19 September 2002 - 3:19 p.m.

Show me someone who is not in a funk today, and I'll bake you a pie.

No, I won't. I'm too far into my funk to bake.

There was no magic in the air at Don-Ho's last night, where I was so tired that one glass of wine had me nearly under the table, and ready to chew my arm off. Thankfully, I was able to pick up a bag of Doritos on my way home (Xtreme Zesty Sour Cream and Cheddar, to remind my of better days) and I ate most of them, in bed, while watching the third quarter of The Philadelphia Story. I passed out before Tracy and Dexter could get back together, and before I could brush the orange stuff off my teeth.

I woke up at five with the lignts still on, and the main menu of the DVD on my monitor. Katharine Hepburn's head looked about as big as mine, even from across the room, and she was shooting me a look of absolute scorn.

You'd never know it to look at me know, with circles under my eyes and curlers in my hair, but I used to be kind of Katharine Hepburn-esque. These days, the harder I try to make myself desirable, the less desirable I feel.

Not that there is anyone in the immediate vicinity to be desirable for, just that it's one way I still know how to make myself feel good.

I found a picture of myself and my old friend Josh today. Josh used to have a shirt from the play Sometimes I Wake Up in the Middle of the Night that read, "I'd settle for being sexually harrassed."

The other day, as Ms. Virginia, Jess and I were walking back from a screening of The Wolf Man, we discovered a certain elderly professor of the spindly-kindly department head variety following us very closely. "See?" he said, in a low, creepy voice, "You never know when something dangerous is walking behind you."

I wish, wish, wished it had done something for me, even made my stomach turn, but no dice. To paraphrase Jerome Kern, I'm as cold as yesterday's mashed potatoes.

I don't know why I feel the need to add my little piece of ennui to a series of Diaryland entries that make me think I am not alone, my life is perfectly fine, etc. etc. etc. Maybe this is just a big "Amen" to all those "Oys."

Tonight I'm going to a reception. I don't drink much lately, but often enough that I feel drunk all the time. Maybe this is just a dream. If so, somebody wake me up.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: